I licked my lips. My heart raced, and surely he could feel it. I could feel every inch of him, see the whiskers on his jaw, the darkness of his eyes. “Now what do you do?” I whispered.
Gray's gaze lowered to my mouth. “If you were my competition, I'd try to either choke you out or do an arm bar.”
I felt every hard muscle of his torso, even though he held himself off of me with his forearms. Regardless, I felt pinned and at his mercy. I did not mind in the slightest.
“Choking doesn't sound like fun, and I have no idea what an arm bar is,” I replied, licking my lips.
“Neither are fun,” he said, his gaze dropping once again to my mouth. “As for you—” His eyes lifted to mine, and I blushed. “—I take you to lunch.”
He levered off me, stood and held out his hand. I just laid there for a few seconds and looked up at him. I had been ready for him to kiss me, and I'd loved how he felt pressing me down. My body felt taunted and now neglected. Was he torturing me on purpose, or did he really not want to kiss me? Realizing he was staring down at me waiting, I took his hand, and he helped me up, but didn't let go.
“Wow. Um, okay, I know what you’re talking about now.” I had to get my bearings. The feel of a man above me—specifically Gray—had me hot all over. “Chris used to go to a friend’s house because they watched the fights on Pay-Per-View. Were any of those fights you?”
He nodded. “Sure, that was it, but I also fought back in the old days before satellite and cable.”
A long career then. “All you did was take me to the mat. The choking and the arm bars, isn’t it really violent?”
He grinned. “Very.” He pointed to his ear, then his nose. “I got these along with my trophies.”
I took in the whole package, and the scars and marks on his body from his career didn’t detract. Instead, it showed he had a past, a history, and he survived. “As a nurse, I have a pretty good idea of how those injuries must have felt.”
His smile slipped a bit. “I’m sure you can.” He led me out of the ring with a gentle hand at the small of my back. We put on our shoes.
I walked over to one of the long punching bags, ran my hand over the black leather. “How did you get your start though? I mean, did you do karate as a kid or something?”
This time his smile dropped away completely. He shook his head. “No. Nothing like that. Let’s just say I learned early on how to defend myself, and when I got big enough, I gave as good as I got.”
“Did you grow up here?”
“On a ranch in Wyoming, up by Casper.”
That explained some of the photos.
“After high school,” he continued, “I went into the Marines, and they honed that fighting skill.”
My eyebrows went up. Earlier, he'd glossed over his childhood and downplayed how bad it must have been. While he hadn’t outright said it, it was easy to infer someone had hit him as a child. I ached for the boy he’d been, of how far he’d come. The Marines, perhaps, had been his escape, especially from rural Wyoming, and it would have made him really experienced.
“You left the Marines and became a professional fighter then.”
He nodded. “I did what I was good at.”
I looked around the space. It was really impressive. It wasn't a cookie cutter gym. It wasn't a meat market, but a place for serious fighters. “Looks like you were really good at it.”
He offered a small shrug. “I’m not as interesting as the Internet says.”
I smiled. “Now that I know your full name, I’ll have to look you up.”
He didn’t seem too keen on that as he glanced away.
“Does it say something like you fathered some movie star’s kid?”
He grinned again, and I liked it. I liked knowing I could make him smile. He met my gaze. “Something like that.”
My eyebrows went up. “I was only joking.” A laugh sputtered out of me. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” When he didn’t say more but watched the boxers get back in the ring, I asked, “Was it the lady who stars in that sci-fi blockbuster? I take you more for an action-adventure type.”
Gray wasn't the kind of guy to be flippant about a baby. From what he told me about being afraid he'd hurt one, I knew it was all tabloid fodder, and I played it off as that.
He turned his head toward me and grinned. “There’s only one type I care about,” he replied, stepping closer.
“Oh?”
He nodded and tucked a wayward curl behind my ear. I felt that gesture all the way to my toes. “Emory’s type.”
“Oh.” I had no idea what to say to that. I had absolutely no comeback, and I was flustered. Of course, that made him grin even bigger.
“I love the way you blush.” He ran a knuckle down my warm cheek, which made my face heat even more. “Ready to get out of here?”
I could only nod, still stuck on Emory’s type. I followed him to the truck, and his gaze raked over my body as he opened the door for me.
“So, yoga?”
“It’s not MMA, but it’s a good workout,” I replied, getting in.
“I can tell.”
Was his voice a little rough?
He climbed into his seat, turned on the engine to get the air conditioning going. His truck was new and big and… huge. It had a full backseat that could fit a few extra cowboys. The engine rumbled with as much testosterone as the owner. Yet it was somehow understated and immaculately clean. It matched Gray’s personality.
Turning to face me, he said, “We can go to the bar and meet up with the team, but they’re going to be three beers in by now and singing crude drinking songs as loud as they can. Most guys probably haven’t showered, which won’t be pleasant, so I was thinking we could get some lunch on our own. Something a little less crazy.”
He sat less than two feet away. I could clearly see the scar in his eyebrow, the start of new whiskers on his cheeks. One of his ears had a hint of fighting damage to it, cauliflower ear, that he’d pointed to. But that was all superficial. Inconsequential. It was his eyes that hooked me. The way he looked at me with that dark, piercing gaze as if I was the only person around. In this case, I was, but he was completely and totally focused on me, not the car blaring its horn on the street, not the bad song that came on the radio. It was as if he wanted to be just with me.
I licked my bottom lip, and he sucked in a breath. “What about your friend, Thor?”
“He texted me while I was in the shower. Laura, his wife, didn’t want to waste a babysitter on a bunch of drunk guys singing off key. Her words.”
“Yeah, I don’t blame her. Thor’s a smart man for doing what she wants.”
He cocked his head in question.
“If she gets what she wants, I promise you, he’ll get exactly what he wants,” I explained. I folded my hands in my lap.
He nodded slowly, thinking about my words then grinned. “So if I take you where you want, will I get exactly what I want?”
My eyes widened. Even though the air conditioner was blowing out cool air, it was awfully hot inside the cab all of a sudden, and my heart skidded to a halt. “And… um, what is it that you want?” I whispered. I was dying to know and petrified to find out.
“Your phone number.” He grinned at my expression. It must have been priceless because I was expecting him to say something completely different, something that involved a first-date BJ. And he knew that.
Shaking my head slightly, I laughed as I retrieved my cell from my bag, handed it to him. He fiddled with it for a minute, then I heard a ring from his pocket. He gave the phone back, put the car in gear and backed out of the parking spot.
“There, now you have my number, too.”
Chapter 8
EMORY
I let Gray decide where to eat lunch. He took me to a place in the foothills, nestled in a canyon and beside a fast-moving creek. We ate outside on a patio by the water. It wasn’t fancy, and he’d said the place was famous for their wings. I was the one who’d grown up in the
area, and I’d never heard of the place. Gray ordered a bucketful, and we’d discovered we both liked them hot. An extra plate sat between us where we tossed the cleaned bones. Another had celery and carrot sticks and a dish of dressing. It was a really smart choice on Gray’s part. It was slow eating wings, so we were able to linger and talk. Our hands were busy the entire time, which helped to avoid awkward moments. It was also a messy task, and it was hard for me to take anything too seriously when we both had hot sauce all over our fingers and mouths.
It was after three when Gray pulled his truck into an empty spot just down the street from my house.
“I had a really good time. Thank you,” I said.
He turned off the engine. “You’re welcome. I did, too.” He shifted his shoulders to face me. “Do you work this week?”
I nodded. “I work a consistent schedule. Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, seven to seven. Days.”
“Those are long shifts.”
“They are, but I only work three days a week, which is nice.”
All of a sudden, I started to feel nervous again, the panic and confusion on first-date etiquette clogged my brain. Was I supposed to kiss him as a thank you? I wanted to, boy did I, but I didn’t know how to initiate. It was going to be an awkward kiss because I felt awkward. Did I lean in first? Close my eyes? Did I—
“Would it be all right if I called you?” he asked, breaking into my ridiculous train of thought.
“Oh.” That wasn’t what I’d been expecting. Once again. I figured he’d ask if he could come inside. Every single time I thought one thing, he did the unexpected. “I… I’d like that.”
I licked my lips again, and I couldn’t help but fiddle with the seat belt. I wanted to look anywhere but at him. It would be rude to bolt from the truck, so was I supposed to open my own door? He’d done it for me all the other times today. “Gray—”
“Breathe, Emory.”
This had my gaze whipping up to his.
“What?” I asked, my voice a little high pitched, and I blushed.
“You seem… nervous again.” His dark eyes met mine then drifted to my mouth.
“I am,” I admitted. I gave him a thin smile. “I know your neat-freak secret, so I’ll tell you one of mine.”
He cocked his head to the side slightly. I recognized this as something he did when curious. “Okay. But it’s got to be a good secret. I mean, being a neat freak is pretty hard to top.”
I rolled my eyes, instantly relaxed. “I’m not sure what’s supposed to happen now. I’ve… I’ve never really been on a date before. I know, this was just a coincidence, but still.” I glanced down at my lap then back at him. “I met my ex in college, and we didn’t really date. We skipped a whole bunch of steps for us to get to the one where I got pregnant by mistake. Then married. Then fourteen years later, divorced. Those two awful blind dates I mentioned don't count, so I think this is actually my first real date.”
He looked surprised for a moment, then he smiled. “I really like that I’m your first.”
I looked at him sideways. “It… doesn’t bother you? I mean, I’m pretty much guy inept.”
He reached across the center console and brushed a lock of hair that had escaped my ponytail back from my face, tucked it behind my ear. It seemed to be something he really liked to do, and I didn't mind. At all. I lifted my eyes to meet his as he ran his finger down my cheek. The feeling was exhilarating, the skin he touched tingling in his wake. I really wasn’t breathing now.
“That you’re not a player?” His voice was almost a whisper. “That you’re smart and honest and open and starting your life all over again?”
“Well, yeah.” I sighed because he understood.
Instead of answering my question, he asked, “Do you know what happens now?” He dropped his hand. “At the end of a date?”
“I thought this wasn’t a date.”
“Right, a coincidence,” he said, the corner of his mouth tipping up. “Let’s pretend it was a date then. Do you know what happens?”
The truck seemed very small all of a sudden. “Well, I have some ideas.” I lowered my eyes to his mouth.
“Such as…” His dark voice trailed off.
“My single friends always talk about kissing or asking a guy inside, or they talk about their one-night stands and even their walks of shame.”
“I never want you to do a walk of shame, Emory.” He sounded a little mad mentioning that.
He took my hand, held it beside the gear shift. His fingers were warm, his touch gentle as his thumb rubbed over my palm in slow circles. I felt the zing behind this simple gesture all the way to my toes. I darted a look up at his eyes and saw the same reaction I felt, the same flare of heat at the simple touch.
“I don’t want a one-night stand with you. You’re not going to ask me inside either. I’m the one that’s going to seduce you, Emory, which means you’ll be in my bed. Soon.” His eyes dropped to my lips. “I want to kiss you. Jesus, I want to taste you, but I want you to be ready first.”
I frowned, surprisingly turned on by his words. He was rejecting me? Wait, he said he was going to seduce me. That I was going to be in his bed.
“Gray, I don’t under—”
He gave my hand a little squeeze to silence me. “When you’re ready, you won’t be nervous or unsure, like you are right now. You’ll know. You’ll want it just as much as I do. I’ll be waiting.”
Holy shit.
Chapter 9
GRAY
“No, do it again. You need to get the bend of your elbow beneath their chin in order to get the choke.” I yelled at the guy I’d been training all afternoon, running my hand over my neck in frustration. He wasn’t getting it. We were on the mat, and he was practicing his Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. He wanted to break into the MMA pro circuit, but as a stand-up fighter, his groundwork needed serious help, and he wasn’t picking it up fast enough for his first fight. But that was why he'd hired me, to literally beat him into shape. We’d been at it two hours now and everyone needed a break.
He tried it two more times, sitting behind his partner, wrapping his arm around his neck the right way for the choke. With the slight change in position, his partner tapped out, which meant he would have passed out if he hadn't used his hand to tell the guy to release. Besides knocking someone out cold, a tap out was the only other way to win a competition that didn't involve a judge's call. No fighter wanted to go all the rounds and let the judges decide. We wanted our opponent to submit. “Good. Now do it ten more times each, then get some water.”
The Muay Thai class was just finishing in one of the classrooms as Thor came over, rubbing his face with a gym towel draped around his neck. He had tape over his knuckles and hands from hitting the heavy bag and was working his way through his water bottle.
It was six, and the gym was hopping, the after-work crowd getting in their workouts. Classes ran back to back for three hours. Next up, beginner Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. The instructor was on the mat in his formal white gi, showing a new student how to tie his belt. I wore a T-shirt with the gym logo, Muay Thai shorts, and my feet were bare. No shoes were allowed on the mats, and I’d had to get in the ring and work hand to hand for a while.
“How did your free afternoon with Laura go?” I asked, grabbing my cell from behind the front desk. I’d sent Emory a text earlier instead of calling, knowing she worked all day, and I didn’t want to interrupt her.
Taking out my aggressions in the ring instead of deep breathing in the yoga class.
It wasn’t anything interesting, but I wanted to send her something. I wanted to have her smile, even if I couldn’t see it. Yeah, I might have acted like a thirteen-year-old girl with a first crush, but I wanted her to know I was thinking about her. I couldn't stop remembering the way she blushed, the scent of her, the sight of her muscles, all lean and strong from yoga. And having her underneath me on the mat, hell, the feel of her lush body was imprinted on my brain. I couldn't forget if I tried.
For some reason, letting her know I was stuck on her was important. She was important. I had no idea why—I’d only held her hand, for Christ’s sake, but maybe that was reason in itself. Besides the MMA championships, she was one of the only things in my life I had to work for.
No, that wasn’t right. I’d had to fight my way out of my father’s house, fists up, deflecting his physical blows until I was around sixteen and grew bigger than him, then built up my defenses against his verbal assaults until graduation when I shipped out for Basic Training. But that had been surviving, and that was different. If my middle school gym teacher, Mr. Johns, hadn’t picked up on what was happening and shifted my anger from lunchroom brawls to the ring, I’d probably be in lockup right now.
Being a Marine had been easy. Running a business was easy. Working hard for something, putting blood and sweat into it, made it important. Made it special, and Emory was special. She wasn’t throwing herself at me. The opposite, in fact. If I hadn’t invited her to the flag football game, I wouldn’t even be a fucking blip on her radar.
Sure, she was a challenge, and I never backed down from challenge. But this wasn’t a fight, conquer and win situation. And that was the kicker. I had no fucking idea what I was doing. I actually texted a girl. Fuck, a woman. Emory was all woman.
She wanted me. I’d seen it in her eyes when she’d been beneath me in the ring. I’d seen it again when I walked her to her door after our not-date yesterday. I knew the signs, and I’d desperately wanted to act on them. But I’d only have conquered her body, and that wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to get to know her, and I wanted her to give herself to me, even a little bit at a time. Then completely. I didn’t want to take.
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